Of Raising Kids and Killing Terrorists
by Jedi Knight of Middle-Earth
Summary: We all know Alex lived with Ian as a kid. But we never actually see his early childhood in the books. How does Ian deal with the situation, an does he really not care? A story starting from the time Alex is two months old.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first attempt at an AR fanfic. Lots of thanks to my Beta, JK Mafia (check her AR fic out, it's great), without her this story would still be lurking in some dark corner of my mind.

I'm looking for someone that speaks French or Spanish, to read over my useage of those particular languages in upcoming chapters. Since I totally suck at both.

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Prolouge

Ian Rider wiped sweat off his face as he ran through the dark halls. _Left? No, that led to the labs. Or was it the bathrooms? Dammit! _

He had almost escaped with the information MI6 had sent him to collect, when someone had had the brilliant idea to cut all the power in the building. While it made it extremely difficult for _them_ to find _him_, It also made it extremely difficult for _him_ to find the way _out_.

Ian saw the shine of a flashlight up ahead, and pressed himself up against the wall. The gruff voices of the germans echoed in the otherwise silent hallway.

"Unser Anführer ist ein wahres Genie. Sogar die Security-Cameras sind offline."

_Our leader is a true genius. Even the security cameras are off-line. _Ian smiled. So now he knew for sure what he had already suspected. The arrogant Michael, the criminal that led this little band of idiots, hadn't even bothered to have back-up cameras, or night-vision goggles either.

"Vorsicht, Artur. Du willst nicht, das er dich so reden hört."

_Carefull, Artur. You don't want him to hear you talking like that. _The two Germans were almost on top of him now. Ian counted in his head:_ 3, 2,..._

Ian lashed out with a viscious roundhouse kick in the stomach to the man closest to him. The man doubled over and yelled out. He tried to swing at Ian, but Ian was already attacking the next man. The other man, Artur, had reacted quickly when he heard his partner cry out and had pulled a long knife from his waistbelt. Now Ian fought to disarm him. Ian grabbed the mans knifearm then kiced his feet out from under him, but while Artur was going down he lashed out with his knife and managed to give Ian a deep cut in the arm.

With the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he didn't feel the cut yet, and he quickly knocked the first man unconcious with a stroke to the head. Ian bent down and picked up the mans flashlight.Artur had gotten up and now tried to attack Ian from behind, but recieved an elbow to the stomach followed up by a punch to the head.

Picking up the first mans flashlight, Ian didn't even turn around to see the other man fall before sprinting down the corridor.

Now able to see where he was going, Ian was on the lookout for a window, somewhere he could break out of without attrackting the entire terrorist organazation to him like moths to a bug-light. But then, in that case the moths usually wound up dead, not the light.

_There! _A small window about a foot over his head caught his attention. Eying it critically, he decided he could just fit. He smashed the window and then proceeded to haul himself up and through. It was a tighter fit than he had thought, and he got numerous deep cuts from the glass.

Now outside, he assessed his situation. He was in a deserted stretch of land, momentarily no guards in sight. The upside of this was that no-one was attacking him just yet, the downside that there was no way out of the complex from here without finding a gate through the 10-foot-high barbedwire fence. In Ians experience, gates meant guards. He wasn't quite sure he'd be able to fight at all, in his current state.

Edging around the side of the building, he heard gunfire. The stuttering of the terrorists machine guns, and another gun he new all to well, the standerd gun for the SAS. Could MI6 actually have responded to his emergency beacon? No, not possible.

Then he saw the first SAS trooper running towards him.

_Well, I guess there's a first for everything. _

With the arrival of the SAS the germans were quickly overpowered. A man in a grey suit walked over to him.

"Ian Rider." It was more of a statement then a question and the man continiued without giving him time to reply.

"You're needed in London immediately."

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Sorry it's so short, but as this is only the prolouge the actual chapters will be longer. Look forward to meeting Alex next chappie!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I know this took forever to put up, so sorry.

Warning: There is cursing in this chapter. Ian's a bitter MI6 agent that finds out his brother is dead. Expect some cursing throughout the fic, folks.

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To me, there are three types of SAS teams. With the first, they recognize that what I do is different from what they do and, well, they don't really care either way. The second is the type of team that worships me, or rather the idea of me, usually because they got thier lives saved by an MI6 agent at some point in thier career. These types are few and far between, but they exist.The third type despises me for what I do, and thinks I'm a spook and have never said an honest word in my life. Well, I can't really blame them. Espescially with people like Blunt and Jones running things.

The third type is the type that was in the helicopter with me. It's a couple of hours by helicopter from Germany to London, so we had plenty of time, aftter they patched me up, to socialize.Or rather I had time to get stared at by the SAS men that hated my guts. It really made for an uncomfortable ride.

Which was why I was happy to get off that damned helicopter. Untill I realized that we were at the Royal&General bank. I mean, I was still bleeding, and my beloved employers couldn't let me go home for two miniutes? I guess they couldn't, seeing as I had information they needed, but still.

Once we got to Blunt's office the SAS troopers left. I sat down in front of Blunt's desk and waited to be debriefed. Then Blunt surprised me, which is a hard thing to do.

"Your brother and his wife died in a plane crash."

I sat there, openmouthed. John and Helen? Dead? Not possible. No, it couldn't be. I mean my brother was one of MI6's best fucking agents ever. He couldn't be dead.

I carefully made sure my face wasn't showing any of my thoughts.

"No." It was all I could manage to say.

Now Ms. Jones spoke up: " I'm afraid so, Ian. Now, this raises the question of where John's baby is to go."

Blunt, typically, interupted her: "We have decided that Alex is to stay with you."

I laughed. Don't get me wrong, I was devastated about my brother, but still. Little Alex, stay with me? They had to be pulling my leg. Then I remembered that I was talking to Aan Blunt. While he might hire people to pull _off _terrorists legs, joking wasn't on the menu for him.

I looked at him. Then I blew up.

"You're sending an infant to live with me? And do what, take him on missions with me? What the hell, why not just give him a gun while you're at it! I can't take care of a kid."

"Ian, calm down. For the first three days, we will be sending a trained official to teach you about child-care. You will do this. Now, about your mission."

I was momentarilly thrown by the change of subject, but there was no point in arguing.

"It's exactly as we thought. The group is making some kind of biological weapon."

"Well, then, I will expect your full report on my desk by tomorrow. You may go home and meet your ward now."

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The drive home was painfull. Not only because of my injuries, which Blunt seamed to take no notice of. It was the realization that John was really dead. This time he wasn't just gone on a mission where it was a possibility he could die. He was actually dead. And as for Helen, she was never really part of any of this. Of course there was a risk marrying an MI6 agent, but she was still a civvie.

I pulled up to my house and immidiatly noticed the changes. There was a big moving van out front. Harold and Frod's Movers. One of MI6's many "fake" companys.

When I opened the front door and walked into the living room, a woman stood there. I suppose she was quite pretty, but I only had eyes for what she held in her arms. Baby Alex.

"He looks so much like John," I whispered.

The woman turned around and looked me up and down before saying: "You must be Ian Rider. If I may ask, why all the blood and bruises?"

I stared at her blankly. So she didn't know. MI6 would send someone that didn't know about my job?

"You are Ian Rider, aren't you?"

I got my voice back.

"Yes, that's me. I assume you're here to, well, teach me how to take care of a child?"

"Why else would I be here? Now, you go get cleaned up. You're in no condition to hold an infant."

I went into the kitchen and got my first-aid kit. Well, an extremely advanced first-aid kit, considering I had high-end painkillers, anti-depressants, and even emergency weapons in it.

As I patched myself up, I had my second delayed-reaction realization of the day. I was responsible for Alex. I had to feed, clothe and take care of him. Wow.

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Sigh. I didn't really like this chappie. So much filler. Anyway, the woman isn't Jack, she appears much later.

Question: do we want to see a lot of baby alex or move forward to the terrible two's fairly quickly?


End file.
